Don't Take John
by Brod Panis
Summary: Based off of the song "Don't Take the Girl" by Tim McGraw
1. Chapter 1

_Johnny's daddy was taking him fishin'  
>When he was eight years old<br>A little girl came through the front gate holdin' a fishing pole  
>His dad looked down and smiled, said we can't leave her behind<br>Son I know you don't want her to go but someday you'll change your mind  
>And Johnny said "Take Jimmy Johnson, take Tommy Thompson, take my best friend Bo<br>Take anybody that you want as long as she don't go  
>Take any boy in the world<br>Daddy please don't take the girl"_

Today was going to be awful, and Sherlock Holmes knew it from the time his father entered his room, carrying fishing supplies. "Sherlock, your mum's out with the ladies today and your brother has a meeting for his speech and debate team later on. I've been given the day off and so I was thinking we-"

"No." The eight year old murmured as he glanced up from the book he'd been reading. Out of his peripherals, he saw his dad shrink for a fraction of a second, then straighten himself up.

"It wasn't a request, Sherlock. Put on some of your older clothes and trainers. We'll be leaving in about half an hour." And with a curt nod, he left the room and headed back downstairs. Sherlock stared at the pages of his book for a second longer before he let out a deep sigh and closed it. If only he were part of any clubs, maybe then he would be able to get out of these pointless and dull things.

He knew his father was only trying to make up for lost time (his job rarely ever gave him a day off), but did he really have to choose fishing of all things? He must've been reading some parenting magazine or something because even he didn't enjoy doing those sorts of things either. There was no way to get out of it this round, so instead of throwing a tantrum like some spoiled brat he did as he was told and met his father downstairs. As expected, there were a couple of ice boxes waiting as well as fishing gear. Sherlock felt his eyebrow twitch in annoyance but said nothing as his father asked him to help load the car.

They were almost finished loading everything up when there was the sound of another car pulling up. Curious, Sherlock hopped out of the trunk of their vehicle to see who it was. Much to his dismay, there stood an eleven year old boy with short, sandy hair, big eyes, and a fishing pole. Sherlock (somewhat lovingly) called this boy "Idiot", but most people called him John. Behind John was his mother, who looked as tired and rundown as always. She urged her son forward, towards the bitter curly haired boy. From the way John moved, he was a bit reluctant to tag along as well.

"Thank you so much, Terrence." She grinned and blew a piece of hair away from her line of vision. "John has been so distant ever since James was sent back to, well, you know." There was a distant pain in her eyes that even Sherlock could see. She appeared as though she'd slept for four hours, and judging from the screaming child in the back seat of her car, that was the cause of it along with missing her husband terribly. For a brief moment he felt pity for the Watson family, but it was quickly washed away as John accidently stumbled into him. Really, for a boy his age he should've known how to work his feet. It just went to show that their family was one big mess, and honestly he didn't know why his own family decided to interact with them or think about them at all.

Finally, she left along with her screaming child, but forgot John. At least, that's what Sherlock liked to think. He tugged on his father's sleeve to get his attention, and then scowled. "I believe that Martha forgot she brought John because she's gone yet he's still here." He thought for a moment, and then shrugged. "But I suppose he could just sit here and wait until she remembers and decides to come back for him…" Sherlock's father's eyes widened a bit and he glanced at the other boy, who seemed to be absorbed with staring longingly at the road, probably wishing his mother had taken him with her.

"Sherlock Holmes! That is no way to treat a guest. John's mother left him here so he could come with us. We most certainly are not going to leave him behind." He fixed his gaze onto his son, which turned into more or less of a glare. He then went to grab John so the two boys could hopefully become more acquainted, but Sherlock stopped him once more.

"Please, don't take John. Why can't we take my skull or the dog or even bloody Mycroft? It's not fair that I-" He didn't get to finish for his father had reached over and lightly smacked him on the mouth.

"Do not use that language! Go and get John so we can leave." Sherlock opened his mouth to protest, but his dad stopped him by saying _"Now."_

With a few huffs of complaint, the younger boy did as he was told and made his way to John, who was still staring at the road. Sherlock cleared his throat a few times before he crossed his arms over his chest and looked right through him. "Idi- John." He stated.

The older boy looked over his shoulder, spotting Sherlock. In the matter of a second his expression darkened, and even he wore a scowl. "Sherlock." He turned back around and glared at the street. He didn't want to go either, but his mother had made him. She'd told him that he looked like he'd been lonely and he heard her talking to her aunt about how he needed a bit of a male influence while his father was away. Why Sherlock's father seemed like a good candidate was beyond him, but the two families were close friends and so it was the first person she thought of.

"You know, you could just tell father you're incapable of fishing and stay here." The younger boy mused.

"I'm perfectly capable of fishing, thank you very much. You don't look like it though. Your arms are scrawny. You'd probably be pulled out into the lake when a little guppy gets your line."

Sherlock felt his face heat up from anger, but he recovered fairly quickly. "Good comeback. I didn't think that you were able to form such large sentences."

"You know, you don't have to be such an arse all the time, Sherlock. No one is going to like you ever."

It was silent between them for a long while before Sherlock broke the silence. "I'd rather be alone anyways."


	2. Chapter 1 and a half

**A/N:** **Instead of going straight into the next verse**, **I decided that I want to a small (maybe) chapter in between. This will be a few months after the fishing trip, and our little boys are forced to hang out again for a whole weekend~ so sweet they are.**

"But why can't father stay with us?"

"Because Sherlock, he's in America right now on some very important business. Martha and I will only be gone for the weekend to go and pick up John and Harry's father, and besides you have Mycroft to stay and watch you, John, and Harriet."

The eight year old found himself cringing just at the mentioning of John's name. "But why can't they go stay with their grandmother?" His mother gave him a warning look, and Sherlock quickly scrambled to explain himself. "Mycroft can barely take care of himself, mummy. I don't think he could take care of us."

"Well then would you like to go stay with John and his grandmother then? You wouldn't be able to take any of your 'experiments' with you, however. I believe if I call Martha up right now I could-"

"No, no. Fine, they can come over…"

"Wasn't asking for your permission, darling." Suddenly, the doorbell rang, which in turn caused his mother to squeal in delight. "Oh, they're here! Come on Sherlock, you need to be a proper young boy and come and greet our guests."

Sherlock let out a huff but followed his mother to go greet the Watsons anyways.

* * *

><p>Things were absolutely <em>awful.<em> It wasn't even eight and already Sherlock had managed to make Harry cry several times. Of course, he claimed that he hadn't necessarily meant to (and he hadn't), but he'd never been around kids that were younger than him. Since he was homeschooled, and would be up until thirteen, all he had to worry about was Mycroft and his parents'. But even saying that her hair was knotted or her knickers were showing was enough to send the little girl into crying fits.

"Sherlock, it wasn't necessary to be so rude about it. I know you were just trying to help out but you need to put it nicely." Mycroft chided as he lifted Harry up. "Alright, mum left us some cake. Would you like some, Harry?" The crying little girl nodded slowly and added a sniffle for effect. Sherlock rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Could you get me a slice of cake as well? I have to go finish collecting my data on the ant colony and then I'll be in to eat it." Sherlock asked as he made his way for the backdoor.

"Ah ah ah, Sherlock. You didn't finish your meal this evening so you don't get any. Mummy's rules still apply, you know." He shot a pointed look at his brother, who groaned and hit his head against the glass. Leave it to Mycroft to be so incredibly dull when there weren't any parents around. "Where is John? I haven't seen him since dinner…" He set Harry on the counter as he moved to the cake. "Go get him, will you Sherlock?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I don't want to."

"You can have a small slice of cake if you do."

"…No"

"Sherlock."

"Oh, alright."

And with that the youngest Holmes boy wandered around their house, calling out for John. When there was no answer, he decided to check outside.

"Die ants! You stupid, small, no-good ants!" John yelled. Sherlock, who had just made his way around to the back, heard this and took off running. But when he arrived to John, it was far too late. He'd already stomped on the anthill a few times, and now as the ants were trying to flee John's fury, Sherlock's data immediately meant nothing.

Rage filled the eight year old and he stormed over to John, ready to let him hear it. "You bumbling idiot!" He hollered as he shoved John aside to assess the damage. It was far worse than he originally thought. He dropped to his knees and picked up some of the sand as he mentally cursed. His head snapped towards John, and he opened his mouth to shout more insults when something caught his eye. There were streaks going down John's red cheeks, and he was sniffling like a mad man. Sherlock stood to his feet and raised an eyebrow. "John… Are you _crying_?"

"N-No!" John shouted in return as he rubbed his eyes furiously with his sleeve.

"You don't need to get so upset about it. I was simply asking."

"Well I'm not!"

Sherlock sighed and looked down at his now destroyed anthill. "Are you crying because I called you a bumbling idiot?" He asked quietly. If it was the case, then he would have to make it up before John told his mother. If Martha found out, she would tell Sherlock's mom and then he would lose his microscope and favorite books, and he couldn't have that happen.

"No! I don't care if you call me an idiot sometimes." John muttered as he slumped on the ground, pulled his knees up to his chest, and hid his face. "I just mmf mff mmfff."

"What?"

John mumbled something into his jeans again, which frustrated Sherlock all over again.

"John, I cannot understand you!"

"I just miss my dad, alright?"

Well, that came out of no where. Sherlock stood there, stunned for a moment, and that wasn't an easy thing to do. John continued to cry silently, and the all knowing eight year old had no idea what he was going to do. He'd never had to comfort anyone before, and he hadn't learned anything on it. It was useless information that he thought he'd never use. Apparently he was wrong, which didn't happen often either.

The two boys stood there in silence for what seemed like forever before Sherlock spoke up again. "You know that's why my mum and your mum left, right? To go get your father?"

John looked up and licked his lips. "Really?"

"Yes. It was supposed to be a surprise or something… I promised mum I wouldn't tell but I guess I'm no good at keeping promises." It was an unintentional warning for the Watson boy, but he didn't seem to get it for he brightened up a bit and even smiled. Sherlock forced one onto his face, but this time it wasn't as hard as it'd always had been. In fact, it hardly felt forced at all. What was this kid doing to him?

"Sherlock! John! Come inside! It's getting dark." Mycroft called from the back door before disappearing inside again. A bit hesitantly, Sherlock outstretched his hand for John to take.

"Come on, John. Let's go inside and have some cake."

John stared at the hand like it was some foreign object before he grabbed onto it and stood up. The two then walked back towards the house.

"I'm sorry about smashing your anthill…" He said sheepishly after a moment. Sherlock puffed up his cheeks and let out a slow breath.

"I'll find another one tomorrow."


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N:I'm not sure I liked how this chapter turned out, but what I had in my mind made sense there, but not when typed out... If that makes sense.  
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**This chapter contains about a second of gay hate crime (name calling, mostly), just in case any of you are uncomfortable with that. **

**Reviews and favorites are greatly appreciated!**

_Same old boy_  
><em>Same sweet girl<em>  
><em>Ten years down the road<em>

_He held her tight and kissed her lips_  
><em>In front of the picture show<em>

_Stranger came and pulled a gun_  
><em>Grabbed her by the arm said "If you do what I tell you to, there won't be any harm"<em>

_And Johnny said "Take my money, take my wallet, take my credit cards_  
><em>Here's the watch that my grandpa gave me<em>  
><em>Here's the key to my car<em>  
><em>Mister give it a whirl<em>  
><em>But please don't take the girl"<em>

Tonight was date night for the two men, and it was John's turn to pick what they were going to do. Ever since they'd made it official about a year ago, they'd decided that at least twice a month they would try to do date night. They took turns on deciding what to do each date night to avoid silly fights about who always got to pick where they went, and other things that would just waste their time in general.

Luckily it was John's turn to pick what they were going to watch. Last date night Sherlock had decided that they were going to go on a "fun" chase. You see, someone had stolen some very important information from the Scotland Yard, who he'd been somewhat helping out for the past six months, and for once in his life Sherlock deemed it interesting enough to pursue, and so they had. Scotland Yard had no idea they were on this, and so he had warned John that they needed to be extremely careful. John had made the comment that it meant every case they had ever been on (knowingly or behind the Yard's back) was considered a date, and so Sherlock had far more choices for date nights than John had. He'd also asked if Sherlock could wait until tomorrow to go after the men. He'd only meant it as a joke, but of course Sherlock got slightly upset at this, and began to pout silently on the couch. It took a few hours before John had finally agreed and they went on the chase. It turned out that there were five men who were in on it, and all five happened to be there while they were trying to get the plans back. This, inevitably, led to a rather thrilling and dangerous chase. Sherlock had miraculously gotten the plans, but not before he got himself nearly beaten to death. It ended with them both being put up in the hospital for a few days for minor injuries and a couple fractured fingers.

So it was safe to say that John had picked something rather mundane for them to do tonight. There had been a movie he'd been pining to see, and even though he knew that Sherlock wouldn't be too happy about seeing something so "boring, predictable, and IQ lowering", as he put it. However John couldn't bring himself to knock it. After all, it was his turn to pick anyways and so if he wanted to see a movie, then that's what they were going to do! There would be no one after them, no being held at gun point, no holding other people at gun point, just them in a dark room with a nice, action filled movie.

When Sherlock heard of these plans, he was completely against them. It took nearly forty minutes to remind him that it was indeed John's turn to pick what they were going to do. Eventually Sherlock had accepted it, but he still didn't like it. The entire way to the cinema he whined about how boring this was going to be, and just by watching the previews he knew how it was going to end.

"Sherlock if you ruin this movie I swear I won't talk to you for a week." John warned as he shot his lover a look while they got themselves seated.

"John you should know by now that I don't mind the silence one bit." He retorted as he sat down in one of the seats. Well, he tried to sit down. He more-or-less twisted himself in the chair and groaned loudly. "Why are these bloody things so uncomfortable? Don't they know that their customers have to sit hear for nearly two hours?"

This caused John to roll his eyes impatiently. Sometimes he swore he was dating a child. "People pay to see the movie, Sherlock. Not to have comfortable seating. Now belt up, it's about to start."

Sherlock grumbled under his breath but settled a bit more into his seat and even let John place an arm around him and pull him in a bit. Normally John wasn't one for public displays of affection, but since it was dark in there, he knew that John would be more comfortable to do what he wanted with Sherlock. Well, within reason of course.

About halfway through the movie, Sherlock rolled his eyes and let out a huff for the millionth time. "You know, John, there's something else more interesting that I'd rather do." He turned in his seat and placed a slender hand on his lover's chest to catch his attention. It worked, as he expected, and before John could tell him to be quiet and just watch the movie, Sherlock leaned in and claimed the other in a deep kiss. Thankfully, John didn't pull away in order to watch the movie. Instead he allowed himself to be completely absorbed in Sherlock, and it wasn't until there was only ten minutes that he realized that the other had successfully distracted him from the movie, which meant he got his way. And that sort of ticked John off.

When the movie finally ended, John got up and left cinema. Hastily, Sherlock followed. It wasn't hard to see that John was upset that Sherlock had ruined the purpose of going to see a movie, but from what they'd done for most of it… Well he couldn't be too upset. But it was odd; he thought that's what most people did at movies. It was just a place where you paid to make out in public and no one would really know. Who would've thought John would _actually_ want to watch the movie?

They began to walk home, and for a while nothing was said. Sherlock knew better than to say anything when there was a great possibility John was still angry at him, and John knew better than to open his mouth while he was angry. Only bad things could be said when he did. So John walked ahead, but not by more than a few steps. Sherlock walked behind him with his hands shoved into his pockets, his face buried in his scarf. They were a few blocks away from their flat when they (they meaning John) decided to take a detour through an alleyway. They weren't more than a few steps in when a man came out from the shadows and grabbed John by the arm.

Sherlock's mind went into overdrive. His eyes frantically scanned the man who had grabbed John, but it was too dark to see properly. The only thing he could see was John being wrapped in the man's arm. Before he could do anything to stop himself, Sherlock rushed towards him, ready to take the bastard out. He was a few paces away when John's frightened voice stopped him.

"Sherlock he has a gun!"

Oh god. A gun. A gun was pointed at John's head. _His _John was being held at gunpoint. For what? Why?

"Give me your money, or I blow his brains out."

How cliché, Sherlock thought bitterly, but he made no remark as he began to dig through his pockets to hand the man the little money he had on him.

"Put it on the ground!" He shouted, and Sherlock did so.

"What the fuck is this? You only have 18 pounds?" There was a small cracking sound, and John let out a yelp of pain. Sherlock felt his heart twist, but there wasn't anything he could do to help John unless he wanted to risk causing John to get shot in the head, which he didn't. So, he pulled out his wallet and threw down his credit card along with the few gift cards Mycroft had sent to him for one reason or another.

"That's all I have. Please, let John go." Sherlock pleaded, eying his lover. It pained him to know that he couldn't do more than offer this stranger everything thing he had. If the man would just relax up a bit on John, even for a second, then he could take him out. Then he could take the gun and hold the man at gunpoint until the police got there, and everything would be fine.

However, he wasn't given that second.

"So you two are a bunch of faggots, are ya?" The man sneered when he noted just how protective Sherlock seemed of his hostage, and his hold tightened. Of course they had to be gay. There was no way two _friends_ could be protective of each other. It really was a shame just how right the man was.

"N-No! He's a friend." John managed to get out before being hit in the face for the second time with the gun.

"Shut up! I know a bunch of queers when I see them." He looked Sherlock up and down before he turned back to the man in his hold. "Shall we see how much your boyfriend likes it when you get hit again, eh?"

"No!" Sherlock blurted out, and in turn the man simply laughed.

"Did ya hear that? It looks like your boyfriend doesn't like it when his li'l baby gets hurt. And since he couldn't give me enough money, I suppose takin' you will have to do." He raised the gun, assumingly to hit John with it. Sherlock let out a strangled sound and pulled another item from his pocket, a pure gold watch that he'd received a few years ago.

"Here. It's the most expensive thing I own. Just… Please don't take John. It's worth 500 pounds." He stretched out his arm, hoping the guy would take it from him. The man eyed it suspiciously, and then all at once he threw John to the ground, took the watch, and ran away. Sherlock didn't bother to watch the man go, for he was no the least of his problems.

"John!" The male gasped as he dropped to his knees besides his lover. John let out a low groan and held onto his head. Sherlock cursed as he helped the other up to his feet.

"Fuck..." John muttered as he stumbled a few steps. Sherlock helped him get steady and the two slowly made their way out the alley and under a street light. Sherlock grabbed the sides of John's face with his hands and looked him over. There was a bruise already starting to form over his eye, and his lip was slightly swollen. Gods, this was all his fault. He should have found a way to stop the man from hitting him or even holding him like that.

"John… I'm so sorry." Sherlock murmured and placed his lips softly on John's forehead.

"I'm fine. Just gonna be a bit sore in the morning…" John tried to soothe as he placed his hands on Sherlock's arms. He was in pain, there was no denying that, but he would be fine. It wasn't like he had his head bashed in or anything. "And it's hardly your fault. I was the one who wanted to take the alleyway."

"Don't pretend. I should have… I just can't believe…" Sherlock's sentence trailed off and he looked out into the street.

"Sherlock. It's not your fault."

The taller male looked down at John with disbelief, but instead of pursuing it more, he decided it'd be better if they just went home. He sighed and helped John steady himself once more, and the two continued their way home in silence.


	4. Chapter 2 and a half

**A/N: Wheee another short filler chapter~ Hopefully I'll have chapter three up by the 14th. I'm not sure though because of school and just how long it's going to be. I will certainly try, though. **

**Again, thank you for all the favorites, subscriptions, and reviews. They are extremely appreciated.**

**UPDATE! Because of school and work, I probably won't have chapter three up for a couple more weeks. It'll be extra long though so hopefully that'll make up for it! (:**

John had come away from the whole ordeal with some minor bruises and a busted lip, and he was already healed for the most part. It'd been a few weeks since the attack, and Sherlock was still moping around their small flat. At first John hadn't really minded; he knew Sherlock needed some time to cool down and let things settle in, a few days at most. But now they were on week three, and even the college student was starting to go a bit round the bend.

Every time Sherlock looked at him, he would get this depressed look on his face, which then turned into a scowl. At first John had thought the dirty look was aimed towards him, but soon realized that Sherlock didn't seem to be upset with him. There hadn't been anyone else that they'd really been in contact with so that only left Sherlock. It shouldn't have surprised John to figure out that his lover was upset with himself; however, Sherlock never blamed himself for anything. Somehow he always managed to find a way to blame it on someone else.

This time seemed to be the rare occasion when he actually blamed himself. What was funny to John was that he was blaming the completely wrong person. If anyone should have been blamed for the way things went, it definitely should have been John. He was the one that wanted to go that way in the first place, and he could admit to it.

When he told Sherlock this, all he got was a loud groan and something about how John was so dense and that it's never the victim's fault, it's the people who just let it happen. Though he would never admit it, Sherlock did have a point there. Goddamn him for being so clever and knowledgeable.

John had just come home from Tescos with several bags, and as usual Sherlock was a useless lump on the couch.

"No, no, I don't need any help. I'll just get these taken care of myself…" John muttered to himself as he made his way towards the kitchen. He was almost to the counter when he felt a pair of hands grab his shoulders. A faint smile played on his lips and he turned to look at Sherlock.

"I'll take them." The taller male said as he grabbed the bags. He walked the short distance to the clearest part of the counter and placed the bags on top before he began to unload them.

John stood in the doorway of the kitchen, watching Sherlock as he put the groceries away with a raised eyebrow.

"Do you want Chinese tonight? We haven't had some in a while…" John said after a bit, his eyes still following Sherlock while he tried to figure out where things could go.

"Not hungry."

"Why?"

"Don't need to eat."

John heaved a sigh at this and went to go sit in his chair. He stared at the tacky wallpaper, frowning in thought. There was no need for Sherlock to be _this _difficult. Normally he was moderately difficult, which was easy to manage. But a sulking Sherlock plus a bored Sherlock obviously does not make for an easy time at all. If only he had Mycroft's number…

As if on cue, Sherlock returned to the room and flopped on the couch.

"Don't call Mycroft." He grumbled into the cushion.

"I'm sorry?"

The sulking male lifted his head. "I said _don't call Mycroft._ If I don't want to eat then I won't. He doesn't need to be bothered by this and plus you don't even have his number."

"But you do."

"As if I would ever give it to you." Sherlock rolled so he was facing away from John once more.

John bit the inside of his cheek before he dropped his head into his hands. They sat in silence for what felt like hours. Finally, John spoke up.

"You know, you can't blame yourself for what happened."

Sherlock rolled back over so he was facing John, a frown on his pale lips. "I should have been able to do something to stop him from hitting you."

"You stopped him from killing me, shouldn't that be enough?" John asked, leaning forward a bit.

"No. If I had though quicker, maybe you would have walked out of there just fine, but you didn't."

"Oh for heavens… It was only a few bruises and a cut lip! It's not like I was in a bloody coma for months. Or-Or even dead."

"But John…" The words died on Sherlock's lips, and after a bit he sat up too. He made a steeple under his chin and looked blankly at John. Normally it would look like he was coming up with a plan, but the doctor-in-training knew the other better than that. He was detaching himself from the world, something he normally did when he just wanted to be alone. This time John wasn't going to allow it. He was going to make Sherlock get over this silliness.

So, he stood up from his chair and joined his lover at the couch. Carefully, he placed a hand on Sherlock's knee and gave it a light squeeze.

"Please listen to me." He begged quietly. Sherlock blinked a few times and turned his head towards John, eyes pleading not to go further into this. John ignored him. "I'm _fine._ I'm here, alive and well because of you. That man had a gun, Sherlock. He could have shot me right then and there but because you decided to give up that watch, all I did was get hit. Things could have been much worse." He explained, searching for any sort of change in the other's face.

"But…" Sherlock began, but was immediately cut off.

"No buts. You gave up something that was not only expensive, but had sentimental value. Before you get started, I know you don't care about sentimental value but it was still important. Wait, is that why you're upset, because of the watch?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, and for a moment he was back to his old self. "Don't be blind, John. I would have given a million of those silly things up if you were in danger. Sentimental things are a waste of time and only distract you."

"Well I obviously had some sentimental value over that watch."

Sherlock went quiet again, obviously upset now that John had made a point. The blond merely laughed and put an arm around Sherlock. "My point is that you really shouldn't be so harsh on yourself. It was okay to be upset for a few days, but now it's behind us. The longer you dwell on it the worse it will get for you." He placed a small kiss on the taller male's cheek. "Please, Sherlock. If need be, I forgive you. It's all fine, okay?"

Again, Sherlock went silent. John didn't know how much time had passed before Sherlock spoke again, but when he did there was a small hint of a sad smile. "I'm so sorry John."

"Like I said, you're forgiven." He ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair and got a small sigh of approval. Sherlock then leaned in and gave John a small sweet kiss, and then a moment later he was on his feet and was walking towards the door.

"Where are you going?" John inquired as he rose to his feet as well.

"I thought you said you wanted Chinese tonight." Sherlock replied as he pulled on his own coat, and then held out John's.

John raised an eyebrow and took the coat. "I thought you weren't eating."

"Oh I'm not. But from the looks of it you could really use some food. It looks as though your professors have given you quite the work load this week. You're going to need to eat as much as possible."

Leave it to Sherlock. John gave a small smile as he zipped up his own coat and opened the door. "You're going to eat at least a little bit, you know."

Sherlock smirked as he followed John out the door. "Of course."


End file.
